


Come Get All of This Love

by zanzibar



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Texts From Last Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1982418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanzibar/pseuds/zanzibar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So you got my text," James runs his hands across the muscles of Paul's back, the strong planes as familiar to him as his own body.</p><p>In which James makes last minute travel plans and sends an innocuous text message.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Get All of This Love

**Author's Note:**

> > (818): Fyi I let myself into your place, I'm wearing some of your clothes in your bed. Come take them off
>> 
>> — TextsFromLastNight (@TFLN) [July 15, 2014](https://twitter.com/TFLN/statuses/489137364661702656)  
> 
> 
> This happened. I have no other explanation.
> 
> Title from T-Pain ~ 5 o'clock

It’s a quirk in the schedule. A lucky quirk in the schedule if James is being honest. 

There are benefits to being young and rich. And this is one marginal benefit to having a boyfriend who lives in a different timezone. 

James doesn’t really think before he books the ticket. It’s after a Saturday afternoon game in late October, that in and of itself a rarity in a market that lives and dies on what they pull in at the gate. They have 3 full days off before they leave for Edmonton, the Canadian swing coming far earlier in the Central division than it ever did in the Metro.

It’s been months of adjustments, a summer of change, an autumn of learning. But he plays the best game you can name for a living. And that means that while the guys in the room are chirping Seth for the moustache that looks like a dirty smear on his upper lip and Shea for a magnificent whiff he had a on slapshot, James is booking a seat on a flight to Pittsburgh that leaves Nashville International in 52 minutes, on his phone, before he even has his pants on.

God there’s nothing better than living in the 21st century.

One of the great things about being traded but not completely moving out of your boyfriend's house is that when you decide to surprise him on a random Saturday night, you don't actually have to bother with packing. James parks his car in long-term parking, pockets his wallet and phone and makes it to the gate with 8 minutes to spare.

The cab drops him off at Paulie's and he jogs up the driveway, shoulders hunched against the just a little cooler Pittsburgh air. Now that he's back again there are so many little things that prick his senses. Things he didn't think to miss until he realized he was gone. The arc of the bridges as the plane landed, the smell of the suburbs, the nip in the air that never quite happens in Nashville, the low familiar rumble of the city in the distance.

The Pens are playing the Senators, up 2-1 in the second on Hockey Night. James turns on the TV, Bob Cole’s familiar voice washing over him while he pulls a beer from the fridge and kicks back in one of the recliners, the familiarity of home sliding down his spine.

He goes upstairs during the second intermission to change. Listening distractedly to the talking heads while he slides the second drawer down open in the low wooden dresser that lines one wall. It's not actually a conscious decision, but once he's opened the drawer he realizes his mistake. His tshirts are in the third drawer down. 

But the subtle, spicy scent of Paul wafts from the open drawer and James is helpless to withstand the temptation. He takes the top shirt on the stack and pulls it on. He takes a moment to categorize the familiar and unfamiliar ways it fits. The slightly different stretch across his shoulders. The unfamiliar sleeve length. He tucks his nose in the collar just for minute while he drops his pants and boxers on the floor and pulls on a pair of Paulie's mesh shorts, tight against his ass, looser around his thighs, the differences in their bodies never more apparent than now. 

He sends the text during the third period. Paulie’s all business during the game, but they’re both more attached to their phones now that they live in different states.

He’s had 2 beers and no food since he left Nashville, so while he means to just send a quick note that says “hurry home,” instead something different pours out of his fingers:

_FYI: I let myself in, I’m wearing some of your clothes in your bed. Come take them off._

James pulls the covers across his waist, turns on the TV and waits.

Paul looks adorably three-quarters put together when he appears in the doorway. Like he had enough semblance of propriety to get his clothes on right, but couldn’t be bothered to look in a mirror. His tie is skewed to the side and one of the buttons on his shirt is undone, revealing the white undershirt he’s wearing underneath. 

He plants a knee on the bed before he even takes his shoes off and leans over to fuse their mouths together. His mouth still tastes like the fruity electrolyte recovery drink he prefers and his hair is damp from the shower. James grabs his tie and pulls to hold him close, it feels like he’s had hours to think about this and finally having what he wants in front of him he’s spoiled for choice.

He settles for yanking Paul’s shirt out of the waistband of his pants and searching for skin. He fumbles his hands down to Paulie’s belt, making impatient sounds against his lips when he doesn’t get to skin as quickly as he’d like.

"Easy," Paulie murmurs, reaching down to help James out, linking their hands together for just a second. "We have time."

Paul squeezes their fingers together and slides his hands down the worn gray fabric of the Elk River Hockey tshirt to rest his hand against James' stomach. James presses his lips along the tendons of his neck while he raises his arms to let Paulie pull his shirt off. James slides their tongues together while he unbuttons Paulie's dress shirt, flipping buttons through holes as fast as his not-so-nimble fingers can go. 

It's distracting, Paul's still mostly put together and James is only wearing a pair of shorts. Paul has at least 3 times the amount of clothes James has on. And they're all complicated with belts and buttons and shirts and argyle dress socks. It's like a puzzle standing between James and the warm, winter-white skin he knows is hiding. He finally gets Paul's shirt open, pulling it out of his pants and huffing his dissatisfaction at the revelation of Paul's tucked in undershirt. Paul grins and rewards his single-mindedness by standing up to slide his dress shirt off his shoulders and pull off his undershirt over his head. He moves for his belt and James moves to stand up on his knees, anxious to help.

Paul chokes a little when James pushes the covers back and tucks his hands in the waistband of the shorts. But his hesitation only lasts a second and James is rewarded by being yanked up and onto his knees and Paul's warm hands sliding under the shorts to yank their bodies together.

"You weren't joking about wearing my clothes, huh," Paulie nips as his earlobe while James continues his fight with the buttons on Paul's dove-gray pants. He brushes his fingers against Paul's dick, hot and hard under the fabric. The promise of warm skin pressing against his knuckles while he fights with the buttons. When the buttons are finally undone and he can slide his own hands around to pinch Paulie's ass James raises his hands in the air victoriously and falls back on the bed, dropping his full weight on the mattress to drag Paulie down on top of him.

Paul slides them into another kiss, slow and deep. James feels himself settle with the familiarity of this, he's been on the razor's edge since he crawled into this bed that is so familiar to him and started waiting. It seems like he's never wanted anything the way he wants Paul right now, the anticipation heightening even the way he misses Paul, the way this room smells and feels and the familiarity of it all making everything seem closer to the surface. Paul pinches his side and James turns his attention back to reality. Paul strips off James' shorts with a quick tug and his bare legs slide against the smooth fabric of Paul's pants, a tantalizing counterpoint of sensation.

James pulls his legs up and uses his feet to push Paul's pants toward the floor. Shoes and socks are such a nuisance and James groans when Paul has to stand up to take off his clothes. He raises an eyebrows when James moves to sit up and help and James contents himself with sliding his hand lazily up and down his dick and watching as all that lean muscle and skin is revealed to him. When Paul's naked James abandons his little show and sits up to slide his arms around Pauls waist and tuck his face against the soft skin of his belly. It's not the sexiest moment in their relationship, but it feels so real, finally pressed together, this moment the culmination of days and week apart.

"You okay?" Paul asks, bending down to press his lips against the crown of James' head.

"Yeah," James lifts his head to press their lips together. "Just missed you."

Paul finally shucks his socks and crawls onto the bed, blanketing James with his warm body and sealing their lips together. James revels in their nakedness, in the warm press of bodies together, the familiarity of muscles pressed against muscles and bony hips pressed together. He pulls his legs up and Paul slides easily between them, groaning together as hard dick slides against hard dick.

They slip into the rhythm that's familiar to them. Paul rolls them over so James straddles his hips, knees pressed against Paul's sides as he bends down to press their lips together. He slides his lips across Paul's neck and nips at his collarbone while Paul slides his big hands down to cup his ass, brushing the tips of his fingers against him until James groans and pushes back to chase more pressure.

"Be patient," Paul says softly, fingers dancing so close to where James wants them, but never close enough.

The lube is still tucked between the headboard and the mattress, rolled in the elastic of the sheets and convenient for this moment when James is seconds away from begging for exactly what he wants. Paul still takes his time, pressing their lips together for long moments and losing the lube in the covers and forcing James to find it again impatiently. Then the fingers are back, this time slick with lube, and exactly where he wants them. Sliding and searching and touching until James is rocking back against 2 fingers shamelessly, spreading his legs wider and moaning loud enough to almost be embarrassed except he can't even pause to consider anything over the steady rocking of his own hips.

"God I love you," Paul's voice is quiet and steady and James' favorite thing about the way he says it is there's no room for denial, no room for any ideas that Paul might be anything other than completely serious.

James presses their lips together again and mutters the words back, pressed against Paul's mouth, caught against his tongue and between a hitched breath and a moan as Paul tugs a little at his rim and grins into the kiss. He fumbles in the covers for the lube again and coats his hand liberally before reaching back to jack Paul slowly, sliding his hand over warm, solid skin, a tease of preparation more than anything. 

The lube squelches and slides and James is reminded of the last time they had phone sex, Paul distractedly trying to talk and open the lube and spilling lube on his hand until it was so slippery James could hear the slide of his dick through the phone. 

They roll again, Paul gazing down at him like he's something precious in this moment, like there's no place he'd rather be.

The stretch seems to go on forever, Paul sliding inch by inch until James can't imagine ever feeling empty again. He holds his dick in his lube covered hand, not wanting to move it yet, just enjoying the feeling of finally being together again.

"Fuck," Paul moans, and James can feel his stomach trembling with the effort to hold still. "I can't…"

"Fuck me," James says, opening his eyes and pressing a quick kiss to his chin. "We can do slow and romantic later. Right now I just want you."

Paul snorts a little at that and responds with a slow steady roll of his hips. James tries to focus on it, to categorize every sensation and file it away for later. But he's impatient for more and he can't help but arch up into Paul's strokes, pulling him in tight with his legs until Paul moans again, collapsing onto his elbows and sliding his hands into the long sides of James' hair to tug just slightly.

"More," he begs. "Please, please, please…"

He's completely shameless now, running his hands all over his body, thumbing a nipple until it's hard enough to cut glass and only then curling a hand around his cock, scooping the remnants of lube from his stomach and using it to ease the erratic motions of his body.

"Yes," Paul whispers. "Fuck yes."

When James finally comes all over his hand, and his stomach and chest it's almost painful in its intensity, it makes him press his head against the pillows, eyes rolling back in his head while Paul fucks him through it, every solid thrust triggering another wave of pleasure until he feels completely sated, sliding on the most clear, smooth sheet of ice.

Paul groans and James pries his eyes open just in time to watch him come apart above him. Elbows braced on either side of James' head, hips snapping hard against his ass, until he slams in one more time, catching James and lighting him up from the inside out before collapsing against him, head tucked against his neck, breathing like he's just come off the ice after an extra-long, short-handed shift. And for one, hateful second, James is ironically thankful they don't play for the same team anymore. Because so much of how Paulie looks during sex is similar to how he looks coming off the ice. And hard dicks in jockstraps are the worst.

"So you got my text," James runs his hands across the muscles of Paul's back while his breathing returns to normal, the strong planes of warm skin as familiar to him as his own body.

Paul snorts against his shoulder and lifts his head to grin. "Yes J, I got your text."


End file.
